


beautiful broken things

by ThaliaClio



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, BAMF Women, Backstory, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Female Tony, Female Tony Stark, Multi, OT3, Past Abuse, Pepper is a BAMF, Tasha is a BAMF, They're a mess, Tonia is a BAMF, Tony is Tonia, Women Being Awesome, a really sexy badass mess, brief sexism and mentions of sexual discrimination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaliaClio/pseuds/ThaliaClio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha knew she was broken. So she sharpened the edges and called it a knife. Antonia knew she was broken. So she glued the pieces and called it fixed. Virginia knew she was broken. So she framed the shards and called it art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hold me together (i'll hold you too)

Natasha knew she was broken. So she sharpened the edges and called it a knife. Antonia knew she was broken. So she glued the pieces and called it fixed. Virginia knew she was broken. So she framed the shards and called it art.

-

When Natasha Romanov first meets Antonia Evalynn Stark she is bloody and exhausted and dying in the snow. Stark looks at her with blood on her teeth and laughs and laughs and laughs.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

Natasha blinks, taps her gun against her thigh. “I came to finish the job.”

Stark moves from her prone position to press bloody palms against the ground, sinking into the snow up to her forearms as she forces herself to sit upright. “No. You didn’t.”

Natasha arches one perfect eyebrow. There is a perfect circle of red snow around each of Stark’s wrists, scarlet starbursts on a white canvas.

“If you wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead. So – the fuck are you doing here?”

_Tap. Tap. Tap._ “How did you get away?”

Stark laughs again and blood splatters onto her chin, skin almost as white as the snow around it. Natasha realizes that Stark is still wearing the too big jeans and faded t-shirt that she had been taken in. It was 25 degrees Celsius in California. It is well below zero here.

“Your lips are blue,” she says.

Stark blows a kiss at her with blue lips stained red and falls back into the snow. White flakes stick to the blood, and Natasha is reminded of a grotesque American flag.

Sighing, Natasha holsters the gun and then shrugs off her backpack.

“I cannot even begin to imagine what you’re doing right now,” Stark says, voice harsh and grating from the cold and days of screaming. She pauses. “I think I’m dying.”

“You seem okay with that,” Natasha notes as she roots through the sack.

“It’s kind of beautiful out here. And I’m cold enough that it doesn’t hurt much.” Stark swivels bloodshot brown eyes to look at Natasha’s face. “Is that a first aid kit?”

“Yes.”

“I think I may need more than a band aide, doc.”

“This isn’t a regular first aid kit.”

Natasha bandages those wounds she can see and then wraps Stark in a thermal blanket. The injured woman is curiously silent during the proceedings, though she is both breathing and awake throughout. She still doesn’t speak when Natasha pulls her onto the snowmobile, so Natasha says nothing either.

It’s not until the doors are closed and the sound of the wind is gone that the silence becomes heavy. Natasha is used to silence. Silence is a weapon. Silence is fear. She cannot tell if Stark is dying or manipulating her or both.

An hour later, and Natasha speaks.

“Are you dead yet?”

Silence. “No.” The voice is scarcely a whisper, drawn from a throat ragged and torn.

“I’m surprised.”

“No. You’re not.”

“No. I’m not,” Natasha agrees. She’s smiling a little bit when she turns to look at the other woman.

Stark has pulled out the heating pads, tucking them beneath her armpits, groin, and neck. The blanket is wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her lips are more purple than blue now, but there’s still a stream of red trailing down her chin, dried rust flaking off her skin. Her short black hair has dried in wild angles, matted on one side with blood.

“Why are you helping me?”

Natasha has been thinking about that question since she opened her backpack in the snow and effectively burned a two million dollar check. Her answer comes without hesitation.

“Because I’m tired of people like the man who hired me. Because even when they beat you bloody you smiled at them. Because you slit their throats with their own knives. Because when I saw you in the snow all I could think was ‘ _Beautiful’_.”

Suddenly there’s a cold hand on her wrist. Natasha looks away from the empty landscape without taking her foot off the gas – there’s nothing the crash into anyway – and looks down at long pale fingers. There are scars on the knuckles and blood under the nails.

“When I said it was kind of beautiful out here, I wasn’t talking about the snow.”

Natasha opens her mouth to reply, but then there are cold lips on her own and they taste like blood and sweat and tears.

“You need a doctor,” Natasha breathes against Stark – _Toni, Tonia_ – and licks her own lips.

“I’m very _very_ wealthy. Get me to any city. Then me and you, baby, we’re gonna change the world.”

-

When Antonia Evalynn Stark first meets Virginia Potts she has a Colt in her hand and the air tastes like gunpowder. Virginia looks at her with a frown on her lips and blood drops _drip drip drip_ ping from her hair.

Tonia blinks at her and then at the body on the floor from behind her desk, pen still in hand.

“Thank you, Ms. Potts.”

Virginia nods at her. There are blood drops freckling her cheeks and nose, peppered across pale skin.

“Ms. Stark.”

“I believe you just saved my life.” Tonia paused and flicks her gaze up and down, taking in the white – and now red – dress, the red hair, the smoking gun, the blood drops on her skin. “Pepper.”

“Pardon me?”

“Ms. Potts is too formal. Anyone who saves my life earns a nickname.”

Despite the gun in her hand on the blood on her skin and the body on the floor, she wants to smile. “But why Pepper?”

Tonia waves her free hand in front of her face. “The blood drops. They look pepper-y”

“Pepper is black.”

“Black pepper is black. Red pepper is red.”

“Most pepper is black pepper.”

“Good thing it’s red pepper. You are clearly not most peppers.”

This time Potts – _Pepper_ – doesn’t even fight the smile.

And then there are guards and shouting and someone is taking the gun from Pepper’s hands.

Hours later and the police are gone and so is the body of a man with a grudge and Grey Goose and a gun. And Pepper, applicant for the position of Antonia Stark’s personal bodyguard, is officially employed.

She comes to the mansion after she goes home to her tiny apartment. The blood is washed from her hair and her new red dress is clean. She smells like strawberries.

A mechanical voice opens the door and directs her to the living room.

-

When Virginia Potts first meets Natasha Romanov she is holding a glass of champagne and smiling and laughing. Natasha looks at her and smiles with flames in her eyes and hunger on her lips.

Tonia is sprawled out beneath her, head hanging off the end of the couch. Tasha licks her lips and throws back the rest of the champagne before throwing the glass onto the floor. The glass shatters, sending sparkling shards scattering across the white marble floor.

The sound of jazz winds through the rooms, music in tune to the motion of Tonia’s hand waving in the air. Tonia is naked, skin tan but not flawless. There are scars and burns stretched across the plains and valleys of her body from failed experiments and angry fathers. Her lips are perfect, though. Red red red, bruised with kisses and smeared with lipstick.

“C’mere,” Tonia reaches out, voice soft and musical and oh so welcoming.

Tasha smiles again, and runs her hands down her sides. She’s still wearing a black cocktail dress, though the back is unzipped and it’s barely clinging to her body. Her hair is long and red and tumbling down her shoulders like wine from a bottle. She licks her lips and leans down onto Tonia, licking and biting up the pale column of her neck and never looking away from Pepper’s face.

They’re the most beautiful thing Pepper has ever seen, and she’s unzipping her own dress even as she crosses the room.

-

The first time they fuck it’s a fight – teeth and nails and biting and scratching and screaming and pulling – and it’s better than it’s ever been before. They lay in a pile of sweat and sex afterwards, cheeks and lips and bodies flushed and bruised.

-

They work in every way they shouldn’t. Tonia builds and destroys in the same breath. Pepper tears down companies and men with a smile and an apology. Tasha washes the blood from her hands with more blood. They are violence and vengeance with lipstick and long legs.

-

Sometimes on Saturday mornings Tonia will take off her shoes and Pepper won’t put on her lipstick and Tasha will put up her hair.

“Pancakes? Waffles? Wafcake? Is that a thing? Can I make it a thing?”

Pepper flicks flour at Tonia’s face. “Just pour pancake batter into the waffle maker.”

“Isn’t that basically how you make waffles anyway?” Tasha adds from her position on the island.

“That’s how _you_ make waffles,” Tonia says accusingly. “Real Belgian waffles are a delicate process with specific ingredients.”

“Science and chemical reactions and blah blah,” Pepper sticks a finger in the batter and licks it clean. “I’m hungry. Make me a wafcake.”

Tonia pokes her tongue out and ducks away from a handful of flour, thrown by Tasha this time. It lands in her hair anyway, turning the short black strands ashy grey on top.

Pepper and Tasha both laugh when she shakes her entire body in an effort to get rid of it, serving only to spread it onto the shoulders of her black tank top. Silence falls over the women, but it’s soft and warm and they’re all smiling. Pepper and Tasha stare unabashedly at Tonia’s ass as she cooks, barely covered by something red and lacy, the hem of her tank riding up with every step to show an increasing expanse of tanned skin. Tonia knows they’re watching, bending over more than necessary as she moves about the kitchen.

Half an hour later, and there are three steaming plates of newly created wafcakes smothered in peanut butter and banana slices. Tonia smiles in triumph when all of the plates are cleared, practically licked clean.

“I should have been a chef instead of an arms dealer.”

Pepper scoffs. “You like blowing things up too much.”

“ _You_ blow things up in the kitchen,” Tasha adds.

Pepper winces. The less said about the pizza incident the better. “Well, yes. But we were talking about Tonia blowing things up.”

“Both. I should do both. I’ll join that new celebrity Iron Chef show,” Tonia says. “Or I could just be a chef, and we can let Pep loose in the kitchen to cover the other end. She’s sure to create something toxic enough to sell.”

Pepper makes a face but doesn’t argue. There had been an incident with chicken noodle soup as well.

Suddenly Tasha’s phone is ringing, Star Wars blasting from tiny speakers. She doesn’t even glance at the screen before answering.

“Director…. Understood. I’ll be ready in 30.”

Tonia and Pepper share a wry smile. “Duty calls?”

Tasha kisses both of them as she stands. “Unfortunately.”

“At least it’s easier than your contracting days,” Tonia says.

Tasha quirks up on lip. “True. Now I have you _and_ the government to send in fighter jets if needed. And Pepper to smooth things over with other governments.”

“Remember I built those government fighter jets so I’m doubly helpful!” Tonia hollers as Tasha slips down the hall.

Tugging at her hairband, a bloody halo spills out to frame a predatory smile, and the Black Widow is ready to hunt.

-

Nick Fury has never been entirely sure as to how the Black Widow came to work for SHIELD. He knows Barton was meant to kill her. He knows Romanov is one of his top agents. He does not know how one became the other, but he is a pragmatic man and lets it be.

He has his eye on her.

-

Nick Fury thought that Stark was a stupid girl who wasted her genius. Nick Fury thought Potts was a stupid girl who wasted her law degree on another stupid girl.

Nick Fury was wrong.

-

He doesn’t actually meet her until after Afghanistan. After Stane.

He tries to get into her house. It… does not work. (He understands exactly why Coulson favors tazers now.) So he calls her. A British man answers (when did Stark get a butler?) and they schedule an appointment at SI.

He’s exactly on time for the meeting, down to the second.

“Fury, here for Stark,” he says tersely.

The secretary at the front desk is young, pretty. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow, but begins to type with perfectly manicured fire-engine red nails, _click click click_ ing against the keys. After a full minute with no speaking, his eye starts to twitch.

“Your appointment was at 2, sir.” The completely undisguised distaste for him and his existence would have made his other eye twitch.

“Yes,” he manages to grit out from clenched teeth. He can _hear_ Hill mocking him for the mouth guard the SHIELD dentist gave him.

“It’s 2:01.”

“Right on time.” His jaw hurts.

“Late.”

“No. I was here at 2. Exactly at 2.”

The secretary smiles blandly at him, completely undisturbed by the combination of his scowl, eye patch, and leather coat. A blonde curl swirls by her glasses, set loose by the air conditioning.

“ _Late_. Ms. Stark and Ms. Potts have a multi-billion dollar company to run. They don’t have time to wait for big scary men to arrive ‘exactly at 2’ and then take ten minutes to get to the actual meeting as some sort of twisted show of dominance.”

Fury blinks. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

The bland smile is still in place. One red nail taps steadily against the desktop. “Would you like to reschedule? I believe there’s a 15 minute window available three weeks from today.”

“Felicity!” A familiar voice cuts off Fury’s response (once he managed to think of one). “My angel. My guardian. My gatekeeper. Have I told you how much I love you?”

The bland smile is now two parts amused, one part exasperated. “Ms. Stark.”

Stark sidles right into Fury’s personal space, six inches shorter than him even in four inch heels, and slides her butt onto the secretary’s – Felicity’s – desk. Her black hair is cropped boyishly short, framing a very feminine face. There’s a scar through one eyebrow that wasn’t there last time she posed for Forbes.

“Nicky,” Stark smiles at him like he’s a meal, and Fury is reminded that standing at 5’3” and hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet, Stark somehow managed to escape a camp of twenty armed terrorist and leave nothing but a smoking crater behind.

“Toni,” he replies mockingly.

Stark smiles even broader and starts drumming her heels against the desk, bloody feet swaying back and forth. Her dress is black and tight and half an inch too short to be entirely business appropriate. He can see pink and red lines crisscrossing her knuckles as she grips the desk and the starbursts of scar tissue on her knees.

“Here for that _debriefing_?” she says with a leer.

“Yes.”

“Mmm,” she hums, still drumming her feet. “Let’s see. I was kidnapped from a US military convoy after a very _very_ successful arms demonstration. The big bad terrorists wanted money and weapons. I vehemently refused. I came home with a good story and some new scars.”

“I can see that,” Fury has to fight to keep his voice bland as he nods toward her face and the line through her brow.

Stark touches it softly with a fingertip. “A centimeter lower and you and I would have been twins, Nicky.”

“From you _vehement refusal_?”

Stark’s expression doesn’t change, but her knuckles whiten on the desk, making the scars that much darker. Fury is suddenly very happy to be having this ‘debriefing’ in a public lobby rather than Potts’ private office. Everyone knows that the other woman got her first job at SI because she killed a man for Stark. He has no doubts she would do it again.

“Yes.” Stark slides down from her perch, forcing her way back into Fury’s space. He’s forced to back up or be knocked over.

He backs up, feeling it for the surrender it is.

And then she’s walking away, ruby heels bright and startling against the black floor.

“Oh, and Nicky?” She calls back without turning. “Just email Pep the details about the whole revenge association or whatever you’re calling it.”

_Avengers Initiative_ , he thinks petulantly. He has to force himself not to poke his tongue out at her back. The glaring face of Felicity is possibly what stops him. Her nails do look freshly filed.

-

Natasha Romanov has been tortured by men for weeks. Natasha Romanov has seduced world leaders. Natasha Romanov has a body count in the hundreds ( _maybe thousands – she can’t remember anymore_ ). Tasha is fighting a smile.

Fury had called the meeting, deadly serious and claiming extreme secrecy and likely discovery over the course of the mission.

“I need you to get close to Stark, Agent,” Fury says. “We need to know if she’s capable of doing what needs to be done under pressure.”

Every word Fury says feeds Tasha’s amusement. Natasha Romanov’s face stays completely blank.

“Of course, Director,” she says smoothly. “What’s my cover?”

_When Fury steeples his finger likes that, he looks like a Bond villain_. Tasha’s inner voice sounds like Tonia and Pepper on a movie night.

“You’ll be going under as Potts’s new PA. Since Stark’s started showing symptoms, Potts’s workload has increased. She’ll be needing a pair of helping hands.”

“Of course, Director.”

Lithium dioxide was SHIELD’s cure, Tasha learned. Stupid. Tonia had figured that out a week in, but chlorophyll was a much longer lasting solution. Less side effects, too.

Later that night, Tasha will go home to a bright house and two beautiful women. They will drink Pinot Noir and watch _Dr. No_ and laugh and, at some point, dresses and shoes and lipstick and hair will be ruined in the best of ways.

Later that night, Tasha will go home to a warm bed and two beautiful women. Tonia will fall asleep first and Pepper and Tasha will lay on her body and trace circuit lines and scars and bones and whisper secrets onto each other’s lips.

But right now Natasha Romanov has been assigned a new mission, and Tasha has a new story to tell her girls.

-

They find Captain America because some rich fuck was looking for oil in the Arctic.

When Captain Steven Rogers wakes up in a SHIELD facility and flips his shit, running out into the middle of New York, he is being watched. SHIELD’s cameras cover every corridor, the stylized logo of SI hidden on the wires in the walls.

-

The first time Steve Rogers sees Antonia Stark is in a picture in a file. The only child of Howard Stark, she’s meant to be a connection to this new world he woke up in. She’s tan and dark and beautiful in the picture, short black hair wild around her face and black liner thick on her eyes.

She’s nothing like Howard and nothing like his old world. Even in a picture she’s nothing but hard lines and angles and edges for Steve to cut himself on.

Her file reads like a tabloid, perhaps because most of the information is tagged with disclaimers saying that it is indeed from a tabloid. There are scandals and assassination attempts and kidnapping and nothing is ever confirmed or denied. It’s all rumor and circumstances and shaky witnesses.

These are the closest things to facts that Steve can find.

  1.        She was raised by a family butler and her godfather after the death of Howard (God rest his soul) and Maria when she was 15.
  2.        She began college at 14 at MIT.
  3.        She took over as CEO of Stark Industries at 21 with three doctorates under her belt.
  4.        Virginia Potts became her bodyguard when she was 22 and her co-CEO a year later.
  5.        Stark Industries is very, very successful.
  6.        She was kidnapped in Afghanistan for three months before being found in the desert by Col. James Rhodes, a friend from MIT and her military liaison.
  7.        She is Iron Man. (There’s a video of the press conference that Steve can’t figure out how to watch because it’s on something called YouTube. The transcript is information enough, though.)



Steve prides himself on his open-mindedness, but he is a man of a different era. He can’t ignore the accusations of drunken hook-ups and lewd behavior that cover most of the pages. He doesn’t think he likes her very much.

-

Tasha and Pepper come when JARVIS calls. SHIELD found Captain America, Captain Rogers, _Steve_.

Tonia is half naked on the back deck, dancing to the tune of an old Sinatra song. Arms raised above her head, amber liquid sloshes over the crystal and trails down her bicep. The music is too loud, and she doesn’t notice the other women until she pirouettes. She slips on a puddle of scotch and lands hard, but only laughs at her own drunken clumsiness.

“Come to celebrate with me?” Tonia bites out, words slurring and sharpening in odd places. “The greatest hero America has ever had has been resurrected this very day!” Tonia’s not speaking entirely English, Italian slipping in.

She lets herself slump onto the floor, legs sprawled out at awkward angles and arms flopped beside her head. The glass is still in her hand.

Pepper holsters her gun back onto the thigh strap hidden under her skirt, and Tasha slides her knife back into the sheath hidden in her belt. They both slide of their shoes, black heels thumping too loudly on the floor. Tonia watches them blankly and then looks at her own feet.

“I still have my shoes on.”

Tasha and Pepper link hands as they walk over to Tonia, squeezing each other’s fingers little bit when Tonia speaks.

“Yes,” Pepper finally says.

She and Tasha are sitting on the floor next to Tonia. She can feel sticky wet alcohol seeping into her skirt but she doesn’t move other than the stroke Tonia’s cheek. Tasha tugs gently on the glass until Tonia releases it and then throws it over the edge and off the cliff. Pepper pretends she can hear the glass shatter on the rocks over the sound of the waves.

“Guys?”

“Yes, Tonia?” Tasha whispers as she pulls Tonia’s head into her lap.

“I…” she frowns and then extends her arms to touch the two women beside her. One hand tangles in Tasha’s hair, the other smears Pepper’s lipstick. “You deserve so much better than me.”

“Oh, no, ‘Nia.” Tasha pulls Tonia up and Pepper in so that they’re all three half hunched over onto each other, the two of them surrounding the drunken genius and supporting her weight.

“You deserve anything we can give you,” Pepper murmurs into her hair. The short block strands smell like motor oil and smoke and bourbon as they tickle her nose.

“Anything,” Tasha agrees as meets her gaze evenly over Tonia’s head.

Tonight they sleep on the deck under the moon and the stars, a puddle of alcohol drying into their clothes and hair. At some point Tonia loses her heels and Pepper’s lipstick is kissed away and Tasha’s hair is pulled back.

Tonight they let Tonia fall to pieces because _Dad always wanted a boy he wanted **Steve Rogers** he wanted a brave brilliant boy scout and he got me instead and he was so **disappointed** and I wasn’t enough and he never ever let me forget it and I’m **not enough** for him or you or anybody else **goddammit** I can’t stop crying because I’m **weak**_.

Tonight Pepper and Tasha stare evenly at each other and remember the nights when they had to be surrounded and supported because they were too drunk to sit up let alone stand.

Tonight Pepper remembers a Tuesday night spent throwing up in the bathroom because the _National Enquirer_ called her a dyke and she could smell the trailer park all over again.

Tonight Tasha remembers 3 am in Moscow too drunk to speak because the blood wasn’t hers or the mark’s and she can still see a child’s face.

Tonight they let Tonia fall to pieces and in the morning they’ll glue her back together because they’re all three shattered by memories and regrets and the mistakes of other people.

-

“Little girl in a suit of armor. Take that off and what are you?”

“A very attractive woman in some killer heels with a craving for some tequila and a good fuck.”

Steve is too busy telling Stark that ten of her isn’t worth one of his soldiers to catch Agent Romanov’s eye roll. He does, however, notice when she has her boot at his throat.

Everyone freezes.

Steve swallows carefully against the heel on his neck, noting that as easily as she’d taken him down, Agent Romanov was very careful not to hurt him, the pressure on his throat _there_ but not painful. He spares a brief consideration for just throwing the small woman off of him but dismisses it. Size and strength would give him only a brief advantage; she’d already demonstrated her superiority.

“Are you quite done?” Her tone is very careful, very controlled, very calm. Agent Romanov makes a point of looking at everyone in the room, but Steve is under the very distinct impression that she was addressing him specifically.

Everyone but Stark and Steve nods. Agent Romanov glares down at him and presses just a little bit harder. He holds up his hands in surrender and nods. The boot is removed from his neck, and he heaves himself to his feet with the help of Doctor Banner, who had stepped away from Loki’s spear to lend him a hand. Agent Romanov turns her gaze to Stark.

Stark laughs, the sound a little cutting and cruel, but holds up her hands. “I surrender.”

“Now,” Director Fury speaks, sounding maybe a little less in control than he had 30 seconds ago. “If we could get back to the matter of you _hacking my ship_.”

Stark’s smile is all razor blades and broken glass, shining and glittering and painful, but the haze of inexplicable anger is gone and he can see the edges cut just as deeply inwards as they do outwards. This is not the woman in the file. “I’m not the one who needs to explain themselves, _Director_.”

They’re all silent, waiting for an explanation they never hear, when the Helicarrier is hit by one of Hawkeye’s arrows.

Steve manages to catch Dr. Banner before he falls through the floor because he isn’t too busy arguing with Stark. Stark hauls Agent Romanov out of the hole she almost tumbled into because she’s not too busy arguing with Steve.

“Get in the suit,” he tells her, pulling her away from the shattered glass on the floor and trying to ignore the shattered glass in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

-

_“Ma’am,”_ JARVIS’s voice is as calm as ever even though she can feel the heat of the missile through the suit and can hear screaming and the scent of her own blood and sweat is suffocating her; it makes her want to laugh until she cries. _“Would you like to make a call?”_

And even though her eyes are turned toward a gaping black hole pouring out inhuman creatures and monster and magic, all Tonia see is a smear of red lipstick and a bullet and a charred stove and a curl of red hair and a bloody bandage and a glass of wine. She can smell roses and strawberries.

“No.” Tonia can taste the tears on her lips mingling with the blood. “Show them, though.”

And she hopes JARVIS understands because suddenly she’s _in space, in another world and look at those stars and the galaxies_ and Tonia really needs Pepper and Tasha to see this because the stars look like the freckles on Pepper’s cheeks and the biggest galaxy is the same shade of red as Tasha’s hair.

JARVIS goes quiet and the HUD goes dark and for a moment all Tonia has are memories and stars and then she’s falling and it’s very very quiet.

-

“Whatever,” Stark waves a suited arm as she walks out of the shwarma joint. She hadn’t taken it off despite the dents or maybe because of them. “There are lots of spare rooms if you want one, no rent, no time limit. I’m going home and sleeping for a year, showering, then sleeping for another year.”

The Iron Man suit lacks its normal grace as it lumbers into the street and then takes off in a stuttering flight. Clint almost doesn’t notice Natasha’s involuntary start forward when the thrusters in the boots go out for a split second because he’s trying to hide his own.

He knows his own lapse in emotional control is due to his lack of barriers after Loki pulled his brain out. He tries to attribute Natasha’s to battlefield bonding, but that’s never been her style.

He’s still eying her curiously when –

“Who wants to give me a ride to Stark Tower?” Natasha says.

Clint is only a little bit surprised when the Captain raises his hand to volunteer. He’d seen the look on the man’s face when Stark had come back from the dead.

Clint and Banner share a look before he speaks. “Can we hitch one, too?”

“Verily!” Thor shouts, enthusiasm for shouting unhampered by exhaustion. “Would any of my shieldbrothers – and sister – wish to fly with me to the Tower of Stark and partake in our host’s hospitality?”

Banner pats Thor’s arms softly. “Thanks, Thor, but I don’t think the Other Guy would be a fan of the ride.”

Everyone stifles smiles when Thor blanches at the mention of the Hulk.

“Tiny humans don’t do so well with flying unprotected at the speed of light,” Clint explains to the demi-god for the rest of them. “We’ll meet you there, though.”

There’s a few moments of confusion as four people try to arrange themselves on a motorcycle built for two at most, but Clint was once in the circus and Natasha’s flexible and Steve drives very slowly.

When they all arrive, all of the letters but the stylized A are gone from the building. Thor joins them on the front steps and they all walk in together maybe a little apprehensively (except Natasha, who Clint could have sworn looked _relieved_ when she stepped over the threshold).

Stark’s standing in the lobby alone and Clint is reminded that she is not actually made of a nigh-indestructible metal alloy, but thinks she might as well be because not an hour after a dying and Stark is wearing her signature tight black dress and red heels. Her lips are glossy and her eyes are lined and her hair is curling around her face. Whatever bruises she might have are hidden by black stockings and sleeves.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” Natasha says blandly (except it’s not bland at all it’s _worried_ and Natasha doesn’t do worried).

Stark pulls her gaze away from the tablet her finger were _tap tap tap_ ping away at. The nails are ripped and rusty red under bloody bruised knuckles. Stark couldn’t quite hide these hurts. Clint doesn’t think he wants to see the other ones.

“I’ve got work to do.”

Clint remembers hearing Howard Stark say _Stark men are made of iron_ at some convention or meeting or in some recording. The phrase had been printed and reprinted and had come to be the man’s defining quote, forever labeling him as strong and unyielding if cold.

Looking at his daughter wearing her own blood as nail polish and hiding bruises under a skirt and a smile, Clint thinks he’s found her defining quote.

-

The first time Steve meets Virginia Potts is a week after the Battle. Oh, he’s seen her on the television – there’s so many channels it almost frightens him and he just can’t grasp the concept of a hundred channels dedicated to porn – but never in person. He’s tempted to look into her history, but after the misconceptions that Stark’s file gave him, he doesn’t.

He knows that she and Stark run SI together, knows that they must see each other pretty regularly.

Still, when he sees her, he’s surprised.

Part of the shock comes from having someone unfamiliar in a space which had previously only been shared by the same six people.

The rest of the shock comes from walking in to see someone unfamiliar in a space which had previously only been shared by the same six people making out with one of those six people.

He comes up from the gym floor to the de facto common area, if only because it has the kitchen, in search of a post-work out snack. Seeing Stark half awake and growling at the coffee maker was not unusual at any hour. Seeing Stark half naked and biting at her co-CEO’s neck, however, was.

Steve would forever deny the noise he made was a squeak.

Stark tilts her head toward him from her position in front of Ms. Potts and _winks_. The lipstick smeared on her mouth is not her own. The other woman clearly heard nothing over her own breathy moans and is facing the wrong way to see anything.

Steve’s eyes go wide and he stumbles back. Stark turns her attentions back towards a long pale neck rapidly reddening.

Steve did not run away. It was a strategic retreat.

-

The first time Steve actually meets Virginia Potts is later that day. She is fully clothed with impeccable hair, red lipstick unmarred. He can almost believe the morning never happened. Except Stark _winks_ at him as soon as she walks into the room.

“Tonia, are you ready? The press conference is in 20 minutes and the drive is 30.” Potts looks up from her blackberry, registering his presence for the first time.

“Oh, hello, Captain Rogers. How are you enjoying Stark Tower?” Her smile is all pleasantness and hospitality, but Steve finds himself ridiculously reminded of that god awful _New Moon_ movie Clint made him watch last night.

“C’mon, Pep – it’s _Avengers_ Tower now.” Stark sweeps into the room like the hurricane to Potts’s breeze, scarlet heels demanding compliance from the tile floor. “We agreed you get to name the next tower.”

Steve frowns. “I’m sorry – Pep?” He can’t link the beautiful business woman in front of him to the concept of ‘pep’; it just seems too high school.

If Stark’s eyes are black holes then Potts’s are glaciers. The smile stays warm and pleasant.

“A nickname I never did quite shake once Tonia decided it was better than my actual name.”

Stark sways over to Potts (because Steve just can’t call her Pep – even in his own mind) and slings an arm over her shoulder. “Short for Pepper. I have nicknames for my nicknames. Right, Capsicle?”

Pepper does not make any more sense than Pep. Steve feels his lip twitch at his own nickname. Stark’s smirk widens. Her hand is about half an inch away from sexual harassment. Potts sighs and rolls her eyes before patting Stark’s arm with what might be affection.

“We’re late, Tonia. You can tease America’s First Superhero when we get done consoling the press.”

-

Christine Everheart is one of ten reporters invited to the private press conference. Virginia Potts is notorious for her exclusivity in such matters. Antonia Stark is notorious for her absence in such matters. Both women are coming today.

Potts comes on stage like a queen. She smiles and greets her subjects, friendly and open-faced. For all her apparent kindness, though, it is clear that they are her subjects. Christine wonders what it says about her that she doesn’t even mind.

Stark walks into the room like a jungle cat. Her walk is sleek and sensual, long even strides that eat up the floor despite Stark’s relatively small size. It is just as clear that Stark is a predator and she views the room as prey. Christine wonders what it says about her that she’s afraid.

Standing next to each other, the SI CEOs are a study in contrasts. Tall and elegant, Potts’s presence in unobtrusive but mesmerizing. Several inches shorter, Stark’s head of wild black hair is even with the other woman’s shoulder. Potts’s dress is white and clean while Stark’s black dress is half an inch shy of propriety on the top and bottom.

Stark looks like the human embodiment of an explosion. Potts looks like the white and red ash that comes after.

And then Potts is speaking, voice loud enough to hear, but soft enough that the reporters cannot speak themselves. Christine holds her recorder in front of her desperate not to miss anything.

Potts keeps things short, efficient. She explains that this meeting is not about “the Avengers” right off the bat and then focuses on SI’s plans for the recovery of New York in the coming weeks and months, the clinics and safe houses that will be made available.

When Stark speaks, it’s almost a performance, voice loud and just _daring_ one of the reporters to interrupt her. She expounds on the technical aspect of recovery, the rebuilding of lost homes and business as well as roads and sewage systems and power lines.

And at the end, they choose to only answer one question.

“Why are you helping?” Christine asks.

The room practically chokes on anticipation of the answer. And then –

“Because we can,” Potts says in the end.

“No more questions,” Stark adds.

And then they’re both turning and walking away, ignoring and disregarding the chaos left in their wake. Blinded as they should have been from the camera flashes, neither of them so much as lifted n arm to block the glare.

And of course Christine turns to watch them go because she may have a boyfriend at home but damn those women are fit. And if she hadn’t turned or even if she had blinked at the wrong moment she would have missed the _look_ that passes between the SI CEOs and a small woman in the back, just barely taller than Stark.

Christine wouldn’t have noticed her at all if she had blinked or hadn’t turned. But she didn’t and she did. And so she saw each of the women brush just a shade too close to the woman in the back, shoulders bumping together and fingertips touching for a split second.

She sees the woman and then the woman sees her.

Head whipping like a snake, the woman meets Christine’s startled gaze. Her hair falls in bloody waves down her back, bound in a tight ponytail atop her head. Her eyes are cold and frozen, ice chips under perfect eyebrows.

Her fingertips itch for a keyboard and a camera. Stark and Potts and a mystery woman sharing secret touches? Oh yes. Christine could smell the pay raise.

The woman smiles. Christine flinches. The smell of money on the air fades. Christine thinks she remembers something about Justin Hammer filing another appeal. She thinks she might write that story instead.

-

After Manhattan. After Loki. After the Chitari. After. After. After.

Things change.

_

Pepper and Tonia and Tasha move to Malibu to hear the ocean outside their window. They sleep in every Saturday and eat wafcakes and don't put on their armor until Sunday. They walk on the beach and feel the sand and laugh when they all tumble into chilly water. They watch silent movies and black and white movies and classic movies and remakes of classic movies and remakes of remakes of classic movies. They whisper secrets and promises and they are okay.


	2. the end.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is what comes next.

This is what will come next:

Pepper and Tonia and Tasha will start wearing identical silver bands with a single ruby on their left ring fingers. Pepper and Tonia and Tasha will move back to California, away from the Avengers, who can’t quite understand what they mean to each other. Pepper and Tonia and Tasha will save the world a few more times and not just on a battlefield. Pepper and Tasha will secretly be a little grateful that Tonia dies in October because she would have broken into millions of pieces that no one person would ever be able to find again, let alone glue back together. Pepper will stand at two graves in November and her lipstick will be the color of Tasha’s hair and Tonia’s shoes and her hair will be dyed to hide the grey and she will cry.

In December there will be three graves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this story for weeks, so I really hope you guys enjoyed it. I'm just happy it's finally out of my heads. Leave a review with any thoughts or comments -- I live for feedback!


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